THIS HAPPENED TO ME

I Came Home to The FBI and DEA Playing on my Pool Table

What it feels like to be raided by the feds

I lived and breathed drugs

I worked as a Pharmacy Tech and sold weed, making over a hundred thousand a year tax free at the age of 22. I had 3 female roommates that attended college across the street. I could afford the rent myself, but I didn’t like being alone.

I stayed away from selling hard drugs due to the people it attracted and police attention. I sold ecstasy and acid, but didn’t keep it in stock.

I was at the final class I had to take to complete the court ordered DUI program. It was really a DWI. The police report said I driving 20 miles per hour on the freeway under the influence of an unknown narcotic. All I remember was leaving the ketamine dealer’s house and when my memory flipped back on I was in a holding cell.

My pager vibrated. It was the number to my house with my roommate’s Courtney’s pager code and 911 for emergency. I received another text a few moments later with the code 187 added twice.

“That can’t be good.” I thought. I called Courtney right after class.

“What’s up?”

“Hogan, the FBI and DEA are here. They say if you’re not home in 5 minutes they’re kicking in the door to your room! You need to come home NOW!”

“Okay, I’m on my way.”

I got in my gold Mercury Grand Marquis, put the column shift in gear and headed home. Running was never an option. I knew the risks. I had been waiting and expecting this day for years and it was finally here.

If you had less than 28 grams or ounce of weed was no longer a criminal offence. The pounds I had pounds at home with bags and scales meant the District Attorney would file criminal charges against me. A felony on my record would limit future employment options to jobs requiring a name tag or hard hat.

I parked down the street and as I exited my vehicle, I said goodbye to it.

I was finally going to jail.

I was almost 23 at the time.

It was 2001 a month after the twin towers fell. I had been slanging dubs since I was 16. By 19 I was purchasing by the pound. At the time of the raid I had been working for a gang that provided protection services in exchange for purchasing loyalty.

Last summer was a terrible summer to be a weed dealer in Los Angeles. Jessie James Hollywood had 15 year old Nick Markowitz kidnapped and later murdered. The story became the movie Alpha Dog. Jessie James had disappeared. It wasn’t a secret that Hollywood’s father was one of the key players in smuggling weed from British Colombia into Los Angeles and now he was under surveillance.

After the murder the police we’re after us weed dealers. Most got arrested one morning in the fall and went away for a few years. Through instinct and luck, I remained untouched. Allowing me to pick up their clients and grow larger.

Weed at that time was very much illegal. During those 7 years every bump in the night might be the SWAT team’s battering ram’s first strike. Every lingering helicopter was reading heat signatures telling the swat team how many people were in the house and where you were. The white work van parked across the street was surveillance. Everything was a calculated risk. I was sick of the stress, but out was not an option.

The Feds

I opened my front door to find the FBI and DEA agents playing pool on my pool table. Most had on bulletproof vests and shoulder holstered guns. The rest were wearing those ugly wind breakers with the name of their agency in block letters.

They all turn their head look over at me and one asks, “Who are you?”

“I’m Hogan Torah.”

“You’re Hogan Torah!?!”

They been raiding houses all day filled with hard core gang members with guns and priors for violent crimes. People jumping out windows, hiding in closets, and giving fake identification.

You can imagine their surprise when this guy walked in.

I opened my master bedroom’s dead bolts for the feds to search while the agent in charge took me into the back yard alone. I was shaking like a leaf and probably ghost white. The lead investigator got me a glass of water

“Here’s what’s happening Hogan. We’ve been following around Bobby for the past 2 months during our investigation. Earlier today he sold me 8,000 ecstasy tablets. We know he came here a lot more frequently than anywhere else. Here’s what we need to know.”

“Are you giving it or are you getting it?”

“Getting it.”

“Where does he get it from?”

“Don’t know.”

“Why don’t you know? You seem to be his right hand man. Which is why we were so surprised when you walked in. We’ve been busting other members of Bobby’s syndicate all day. They were hardened criminals. We were not expecting Hogan to be a 20 year old kid who looks like Rickey Martin. Why is a Jewish kid dealing with an Asian gang?”

“Convenience.”

“You’re telling me Bobby never told you where he was going when he was picking up?”

“Correct.”

“Weren’t you curious?”

“I didn’t want to know because I knew this day would come.”

I’m not a snitch. I’ve never dropped a dime on anyone.

Bobby had told me a few days ago about this deal. They were paying something stupid like 16 bucks a pill. No one paid that much if they were buying in quantity. At the time if you were buying a boat (boat = 1,000 pills) 6 per pill was the going rate.

I asked Bobby if he was sure he wasn’t talking to a cop. I tried instill doubt about the deal. 16 dollars a pill for 8,000 was illogical.

“Oh no, he’s cool.”

The guy Bobby described a few days ago was now in my backyard with a badge on his tactical vest, grilling me on a hundred questions I didn’t know the answer to even if I did.

Bobby was smart enough to be anything he wanted to be. He came from a very well to do family who owned a well-known chain of Thai iced tea shops all over LA. Bobby didn’t want to scoop boba, he enjoyed the gangster lifestyle.

While talking to the supervisory special agent I saw the DEA guys pull 8 freezer bags full of weed out of my closet. Then they pulled out my briefcase. They gasped when they opened it. My drug briefcase was a thing of legend. I had been collecting every drug I came across the past 5 years.

I felt so bad.

They let my two roommates come talk me. They were innocent college girls who hadn’t gotten so much as a speeding ticket. They weren’t equipped for this.

They said when they heard a knock on the door and saw a guy who looked like one of my friends. When she opened it they all rushed in and shoved her down. The other roommate had finished her shower. She had on a towel when she almost walked into a shotgun pointed at her head.

The girls were crying and that got me going. There was nothing I could say so I held them while I could. They knew I was going away for a long time.

I could tell by the agent’s body language something was happening. They were passing around a piece of paper shaking their heads laughing.

Great, what did they find now.

“Is this yours?”

I looked at the piece of paper. It looked familiar. I imagine a smile crept across my face when I realized what it was.

“That is absolutely my medical marijuana prescription!” Prop 215 had passed a year ago. As soon as I could find a doctor, I got a prescription for weed. I never went to a dispensary to buy but got it for this exact purpose.

The mood shifted. I got this sudden feeling I may not be going to jail tonight.

Sometime later I heard the garbage disposal running for a prolonged period. While the rest of the agents finished their pool game the agent in charge took me back outside.

“Here’s the thing Hogan, we’re the FBI and DEA. The amount of each drug you have is under the federal limit. So we can’t arrest you. In cases where the amount of drugs found is beneath our threshold we call the local cops and they arrest you. However, you have been cooperative. Your answers were sincere. Courtney and Katy told us about the kind of person you are. Those girls love you to death you know. You are lucky to have them. You don’t belong in this life.

“You need to knock off this bullshit and get yourself back in school. You are not a criminal. While we’re not calling the police tonight, we are going to turn over what we have and let them deal with it. Expect them to contact you at some point. Don’t leave town for a few weeks in case we have some more questions. We are watching you. Keep your nose clean.” And they left.

I pinched myself to make sure I was still at home.

How did that happen? The girls grabbed me around the neck and buried their heads in my chest and we all had an amazing 5 minute cry.

I later looked at the garbage disposal and noticed a bunch of stems. I think they put all the drugs in the disposal. They confiscated about 4 grand in cash.

That wasn’t the end. The police eventually did call me. There was massive fallout that hit my professional and personal life. I lost my job and girlfriend in the next 24 hours. A few days later the gang stopped by demanding compensation for the 3 pounds of weed the feds took. But that’s another story.

Jail would not have been a good place for young Hogan. All the bad things that have happened in the past were experiences that make me the person I am today. I regret nothing. I lacked guidance and discipline. I learned from experience. It was a lot of fun and I never want to it again